


Animal

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Backsliding Dean, Bitchy Dean, Blow Jobs, Castiel is Overenthusiastic, Come Swallowing, Confused Castiel, Dean is kinda sappy, Dean needs to calm down, Deepthroating, Dry Humping, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fondling, Hand Jobs, Headcanon, Heavy Petting, Homophobic Language, Human Castiel, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Mild Kink, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Premature Ejaculation, Pushy Castiel, Reunion Sex, Slash, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, and he's a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has a fixation and an accident.  Dean is appalled.  </p><p>With all the new things “allowed” in their relationship, stands to reason that they’d run into a few hitches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Animal

_October 2018_

There were a whole lot of inescapable truths that pissed Dean off. One of them was that you couldn’t save everybody. Another was that the bread always fell butter-side down, especially on the carpet, and when you peeled it back up it would have hair stuck in it. Still another was that his lighter would only malfunction at the worst possible moment.

And the one he hated _a lot_ was that he seriously enjoyed making out with _Cas_.

Not talking about fooling around, mind—no, just making out with him. Like he was doing right now. It was slow and it was easy, Dean’s thumbs hooked into the waistband of his jeans while Cas’s fingers stroked up and down his throat. Cas was currently sucking on his lower lip, his breathing even, and every movement he made against him was pleasant, but not _maddening_. This wasn’t Fool Around Territory—this was strictly the Land of Make Out, and Dean friggin’ liked it. Liked it…more than he could remember ever liking it with a woman.

Goddammit.

Scowling only a little, he slipped his tongue out when Cas released his lower lip to drag it along Cas’s in return, and Cas just sighed contentedly against him. Just because he’d admitted he liked getting it on with a guy didn’t mean he had to like it. Or something. Whatever, Cas was kissing his throat now—that was more important.

Making out was all he and Cas had done for this entire week he and Sam had been crashing at Bobby’s, recovering from a nasty run-in with a poltergeist, and Dean was happy for it in a bitter kind of way. They’d both just retreat upstairs once it got late and Dean would crawl into bed next to Cas and just…goddammit, enjoy some kissy-face with an ex-angel. What the hell was wrong with him?

Oh, he knew what was wrong with him. Dean knew he wasn’t turning into a complete pussy—he was, in fact, in the mood for more then just a little tonsil hockey. He may have been recovering from what had felt like all of his bones suddenly being set on fire by a very pissed-off spirit, but he wasn’t _dead_ , and that’s why he kept coming back to Cas’s room all week, because he _did_ want some actual fooling around but wasn’t getting any. No, because despite what he may have wanted, he was _avoiding_ anything more than making out with Cas. Because Cas was a friggin’ _jerk_.

He’d predicted exactly what was gonna happen that night they’d gone on their first solo hunt together and had wound up…Jesus, wound up just _screwing each other’s brains out_ , fine, he’d admit it. But even though he’d seen it coming, he’d still been unpleasantly surprised anyway—Cas had gone down on him, Dean had enjoyed it…and now _that was all the stupid cockwaffle wanted to do_. The very next time they’d been at Bobby’s and Dean had gotten frisky, Cas had promptly snuck up on him and went down on him. And the next time. And the next. _Every single time_ Dean wanted to mess around with Cas, all Cas wanted to do was friggin’ suck him off. It didn’t matter that it—that it felt great, what mattered was what the hell was Dean supposed to do if Cas had Dean’s dick in his mouth all the time?!

And that wasn’t the worst of it. It had taken Cas pretty much no time at all to get his technique down—the bitch—so then he’d started trying _other_ things. One night he’d nearly sent Dean leaping out of the bed in horror when he’d just about choked himself trying to deep-throat him. That had pretty much killed the mood for Dean right there, having Cas gagging on his dick like that, and the evening had been wrapped up with a rather unsatisfying handjob and Dean angrily telling him not to do that again.

Of course Cas hadn’t listened. Well, not really—friggin’ angels, always making themselves loopholes by only obeying the exact words. Cas didn’t go so deep he gagged anymore, just like Dean told him, but every time after that, he’d be sucking merrily away, and then he’d get this _look_ and try to go deeper. Only not _too_ deep—but it was deep enough to make him cough, at least. And it was sure as hell plenty deep enough to make Dean really uncomfortable. And he wouldn’t fucking _quit_. So now, not only was he sucking Dean off at every opportunity, he was always trying to cram his cock down his throat.

So, a while back, Dean had finally had to put his foot down—he’d been laying on his back, enjoying Cas licking his way down his chest, but he’d managed to keep his head in the game enough to realize just what that meant before Cas managed to get his shorts off and—start in on him. So he’d stopped the show and told Cas to just _knock it off_ , because it wasn’t a fucking Slurpee machine, and fucking Christ, he was gonna give himself jaw tendonitis or something if he kept that up!

Well, to see Cas’s face, it was as if Dean had just announced that he personally had been the one who shot both Bambi’s mom _and_ Old Yeller. Dean had been appalled to see how _crushed_ Cas looked when Dean had been just so mean to tell him that no, he couldn’t give him a blowjob. He’d quickly set about to make him stop looking like that—and had succeeded, of course, because Cas was crazy about a good frot. He’d thought that would be the end of it.

Dean should’ve known that of course he wouldn’t be that lucky.

After that when they’d went beyond some kissing or mutual cuddling ( _goddammit_ ), Cas hadn’t tried to go down on him any more. It had been nice—more importantly, it’d been _variety_. Dean could actually play an _active_ role, thank you very much. He’d thought they were returning to their normal routine—one where he didn’t have to be reminded that he was getting very regular head _from a dude_.

And of course Cas would screw even that up.

That was because he only didn’t _actively_ ask if he could pretty-pretty-please give Dean a blowjob. After their first time, Cas had definitely taken the Fight Club approach to blowjobs, in that you Do Not Talk About Blowjobs. Just like Dean had told him, of course. But every single time Cas kissed around his stomach or got near his hips, he’d suddenly look up at Dean and those big eyes would be there and the question would be clear— _can I pleeeeeease stick your cock in my mouth?_

Dean would just drag him irritably back up and throw him over on the mattress and kiss the jackass into submission. _No, dammit._ And every time, it had worked. Cas had apparently put it out of his mind and they’d done whatever it was they do—except the last time. It was even on one of the nights before he and Sam had headed back out on the road, too, the twerp, and Dean had just wanted a good time for a nice send-off. But no, right before Dean had settled in to go to sleep, he’d seen Cas—seen that _dejected_ look on his face.

Why the fuck was Cas depressed because Dean wasn’t making him eat dick all the time?!

He’d been all smiles (okay, overstatement) when he and Sam had arrived home again this time, of course. And all week Cas had been content to just sit up here with him and make out, maybe have a little petting before Dean left to go sleep on his couch in the back room. No sad-face or anything. However, Dean had a very nasty feeling that if he _did_ start something other than making out? Cas would be reminded that oh, he hadn’t tried to shove Dean’s prick down his throat in _months_ and so his life sucked and he may as well just go hang himself.

Douchebag.

They could do the same thing they’d been doing tonight—just lots of kissing and the usual. And even though it would be just kissing, maybe he wouldn’t leave—he’d just sleep in there with him. But he didn’t _want_ to do nothing but a little kissing, because he and Sam were heading out again tomorrow. Plus, Dean was starting to get that wandering itch that told him it’d be a long while before he’d come home again—he just had a feeling that another job would pop up immediately after this one in Florida and they’d have to drive all the way to Nevada or something immediately after that, and since getting that brand on his back, he was rarely wrong. He didn’t know when he’d _see_ Cas again, and Bobby, the turd, had implied more than once that when Dean was gone for extended periods of time, Cas would in fact get depressed— _angelically_ depressed, which apparently wasn’t the same as when normal people got depressed. And it was pitiful.

Couldn’t they just get him a full-spectrum lamp or something?

Making a little noise in his throat, he pushed gently against Cas and rolled them on their sides. Cas went without a fuss, though he did keep his leg up over Dean’s hip—well, Dean was fine with that. Frankly, he could keep this up all night—but still, point was, he didn’t _want_ to. He wanted to get in a little action with Cas and have a nice time with him before he had to go off and not see him and be stuck high and dry for God knew how long. He wanted—dammit, he wanted to say goodbye, stupid as that was. If anything, for Bobby’s sanity—even though he was a turd.

Experimentally, he dragged his hand slowly down Cas’s side until he felt the hem of his shirt before sliding his fingers up under it, resting his palm against the warm skin of his waist. Then he slid higher, eventually resting his fingers against Cas’s ribs and using his other arm to pull him closer. He felt the leg over his hip curling more tightly around him until their hips bumped, and Dean pushed back, rubbing against him. Cas made a tiny sound, and then Dean found himself being pulled on top of Cas as he rolled onto his back, his fingers tightening in his hair and his leg hooking firmly around the back of Dean’s thigh. Yeah, Cas wanted more tonight, too. Dammit.

To hell with this. Dean wanted some action. Cas wanted some action. Action was gonna be had, whether Cas was gonna be a bitch about it or not.

Pulling back a bit, he reached down and grabbed the hem of Cas’s shirt. Seconds later, he had it peeled off and tossed aside, and there was his scrawny chest and all that pale skin that Dean liked way too much—but who cared. Stroking his hands down Cas’s sides, he bumped Cas’s chin with his forehead and made him tilt his head up so he could press his lips against Cas’s throat. From there he just started that very familiar path, touching all of his favorite spots with his hands first and following them up with his mouth. Cas was making those little noises Dean liked, just tiny sighs and the occasional _hmmm_ of contentment. He nibbled right below his navel, before going back up, his palms sinking into the mattress as he rested comfortably on top of him again and kissed him because he could.

One of Cas’s hands was moving restlessly against the fabric of his shirt, so Dean paused making out with him long enough to pull it off as well, not caring where it landed, either. Then it was back to business, which Cas approved of—and Dean did, too. Suddenly having all that hot skin against his own never failed to please him, and it also meant that Cas could start petting him properly, which also pleased him.

And that was exactly what Cas was doing, of course—he was already tracing out the bumps of his spine with his fingers, one hand still in Dean’s hair, even as he wriggled around under Dean due to the mild assault Dean was currently conducting on his neck. His writhing just got worse when Dean shifted, nudging his knees with one of his own, and then he got a leg up between Cas’s and started rubbing his thigh on the sweet spot. It didn’t take long for Cas to start getting hard, but that was fine—Dean was getting there himself, because it was pretty on-turning, feeling Cas squirming around underneath him. Said squirming almost made him laugh against Cas’s mouth when he deliberately dug his thumbs into Cas’s ribs and heard him make a muffled little grunt as he twitched involuntarily—the concept of a ticklish angel was still the most ridiculous thing on the goddamn planet.

Because he was generous, Dean reached down and popped open Cas’s jeans for him, pulling the zipper down so he wouldn’t have to be all cinched up with a boner. Cas made his approval known by grabbing his ass and pushing Dean’s hips down against his own, which really just made Dean’s own situation worse. He figured he’d undo his own pants while he was down there, but Cas had just trapped his hand between them because he was a douche. He finally managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, and that was a whole lot better—and not just because he was free from his confinement, either. No, the way his shorts-covered dick slid against Cas’s was a very good thing indeed, so he rubbed a bit harder, echoing the soft groan Cas made.

Apparently, not doing anything with Cas all week had downsides—he _really_ didn’t want to draw things out. In fact, he was somewhat alarmed by how badly he wanted to just get them both butt-naked so he could feel Cas’s hot cock against his own—and the fact that he knew _precisely_ what he wanted from Cas tonight was mildly squicky ‘cause that just meant he’d done so much with Cas that he knew exactly what he liked with a _dude_ and actually _wanted_ it. _Asking for normal sex is just too much, apparently_ , he thought wryly as he reached down and squeezed Cas’s dick, making him shudder, before sliding both his arms up and wrapping them tightly around Cas’s middle, rolling them over while tasting the inside of his mouth. Hmph—actively _wanting_ to bump dicks with Cas. What the hell was his life, man.

As usual once Cas got on top, it was time for Serious Business, and he immediately started seeking out all those spots that best got Dean going. He always focused on Dean’s neck because that was where Dean liked it, his hands playing across his chest and his fingers teasing his nipples, also how Dean liked it. But then he was moving down, sliding his body down across Dean’s because he knew Dean liked to feel all that skin rubbing against his own. Because that’s just what Cas did, the bastard—whatever Dean liked, he did it.

He felt Cas’s palm pressing against his ribs, and dammit, he couldn’t help it—he looked down, and there was Cas, rubbing and touching right where he could feel his heart beating, and then Cas looked up, his eyes shiny and big. _Goddammit, Cas._ Gripping Cas by the upper arms, Dean had to drag him back up just to kiss him some more, wrapping his own arms around him again and just holding his body against his. Forget the damn blowjob— _that_ had been the biggest mistake of that trip, letting Cas get all—get touchy-feely about his stupid heartbeat, the twit.

Cas was the one who finally broke away this time, panting softly against Dean’s neck as he rested on top of him, one hand running gently through Dean’s hair. Dean, meanwhile, had one hand on the small of Cas’s back and the other stroking his shoulders, just listening to the sound of Cas’s breathing. If Dean didn’t have other plans for tonight, he probably could’ve been content to sit like this for another half-hour before kicking him off. However, he did have other plans. As such, after trailing his fingers up and down Cas’s warm back a few more times, he slid them down a little lower, right under the hem of Cas’s loose jeans, and, after a little deliberation, slipped his fingers under his shorts, too. Cas _hmmed_ his approval against Dean’s throat, perfectly happy that Dean had decided to get an angelic handful. He raised his head up, his smooth cheek sliding against Dean’s, and while he started kissing again, Dean reached both hands down and started pushing at Cas’s jeans.

Cas shifted around, wriggling out of them, but soon just sat up and kicked out of them himself before immediately crawling back up and hooking his fingers into Dean’s pants as well. Dean braced himself on the bed and lifted his hips, letting Cas pull them off, and now that they were both down to their shorts, things could really start getting good. Dean used Cas’s momentum against him as he slung himself back up to lay on top of him and instead got _him_ on his back. Pinning Cas to the bed was never a problem—that’s what he got for being such a skinny little runt—and he nibbled a little on his neck before going back down again, winding that wet trail down his chest, stopping occasionally to suck at one of Cas’s particularly sensitive spots—and to press his fingers a bit against his ribs again, and there was that twitch again. Heh—he wasn’t sure why that was so funny tonight, but it was.

Well, enough funny. Besides, he knew Cas would start getting pissy if he kept it up. Abruptly, Dean shifted gears, flicking his tongue out to brush across Cas’s nipple while at the same time he slipped his hand down and squeezed Cas’s prick through his shorts. Cas sucked in a sharp breath, his hips arching up against his hand, so Dean squeezed him again, lower this time, finding his balls and rubbing like he knew would drive him crazy. And of course he was right, and he smirked against Cas’s breastbone when he heard that soft groan and felt a little shudder when he slid his hand back up to rub his palm against the head of his cock. Cas was so predictable.

He didn’t get any less predictable when Dean finally leaned up to kiss him again, his hand still squeezing and stroking through Cas’s shorts, and Cas didn’t bother with any formalities and simply jammed his tongue down Dean’s throat. Even after all this time, the dork always got himself so worked up over the slightest thing. Of course, Dean didn’t entirely mind the way he reached down and grabbed his ass with both hands and forced Dean’s hips down against his own, because that meant mutual rubbing—okay, that was definitely better, as he’d suddenly reminded him that Cas had been having all of the fun. Now they were back to being fair.

Dean enjoyed grinding his hips down against Cas’s for a bit, their cocks rubbing pleasantly against each other through their shorts, but then just rolled them over, getting Cas’s warm body back on top of his own because he liked that probably more than he should. Cas probably did, too, the punk, getting his arms underneath Dean so he could squeeze the life out of him, all while getting his knee up between Dean’s thighs and pushing like he was trying to get Dean to hump his leg or something. No, he wasn’t gonna do that—Cas did all the damn leg-humping, the freak. Though the rhythmic nudging against his balls did feel pretty damn great.

It didn’t take long for Cas to stop trying to strangle him, though, because soon he was propped up on his elbows, his kisses deep but not frantic even though Dean was making no effort not to grope Cas’s butt. Dean’s handful of warm cheek slid away as Cas started licking his way down again, grinding his knee against Dean’s junk the whole time, so it wasn’t surprising when he groaned quietly as he lapped and sucked right at the base of his throat. Dean stroked his hair as he kept going, and soon he was back over his heart, rubbing and kissing and then just listening, the stupid sop, and as he watched, Dean wondered if the idiot knew how ridiculous he looked down there, all nuzzly and shit.

Dean was just about to tell him he looked idiotic, but then he started back up, and Dean tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Cas’s skilled mouth and tongue were on his nipples, because things were great—who cared that Cas was dumb. He loved the way Cas felt as he slid slowly down, his teeth scraping his skin as he went, and Dean couldn’t help but push his hips against Cas’s hand when his palm pressed against his dick, squeezing—

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes shot open. He pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring down at the punk—how many times was he going to have to tell him to keep his goddamn mouth shut when they did their thing?!

But then he met Cas’s eyes, saw that look—saw the way he was _looking_ up at him, his chin almost resting against the hem of his shorts, his eyes all big and shiny and hopeful…

No. They were _pleading_. _Begging._

_Son of a bitch._

He _knew_ he’d do it. Dean had known that sorry bastard would do this again, but now he’d just gone beyond trying to stare him into it, no, now he was resorting to dirty tricks, doing that pitiful “Deeeeeeean” thing and grabbing his cock while doing it!

“Dammit, Cas,” he growled, “you—I—”

There went the upturned eyebrows, and was he _jutting out his lower lip_ —? Oh, no, even better, he was just doing that _tongue_ thing, just licking his lips and looking _absolutely pathetic_ , and Dean _knew_ he was just doing the countdown to Crushed Cas because Dean was a big meanie!

Dean stared back at him for just a few more seconds before he just decided to abort Cas’s pity party. Fine. _Fine._ It was a send-off anyway. He was horny and that was as good a thing to do about it as any. And he—he wanted Cas to be happy, didn’t he? Wasn’t that the whole fucking point of this thing?

_Fine._

“Cas, you—okay, we’ll—just, fine, you can tonight,” he ground out, trying to rush through his words because talking about this just ruined the mood for him every time.

Well, the heavens just opened up and Dean could all but _hear_ “Ode to Joy” start up because Cas’s expression went from “getting dejected” to “oh my God I’m so excited I think I’m gonna piss myself.” And the next thing Dean knew the son of a bitch was trying to tear his shorts off.

“Hey!” Dean snarled, flinging himself up and grabbing Cas’s upper arms, dragging him back up just to make him stop that. What the hell?! He knew he never went first when it came to—to that! Jesus Christ, Cas had the goddamn _weirdest_ fetish Dean had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen some weird ones!

Even after Dean managed to yank him back up and away from his junk, he immediately started pretty much _humping_ him, pressing his hips against Dean’s and wildly rubbing his cock against him and writhing around to the point that it was almost a struggle to get him on his back again so Dean could try and put his own thing down. Okay, this was officially obscene. What the fuck was wrong with this freak? Dean supposed that was what was wrong with him—he was a goddamn freak.

And—shit, he wasn’t any better on his back, either! No, his hands were everywhere, going immediately for his shorts, pushing insistently. He didn’t quite get them all the way down, but he did manage to work them down enough so that Dean’s ass was now bared for the world to see—good God, would he _ever_ calm down?! An involuntary grunt left his throat when Cas’s hand circled around the front and went right down his shorts, gripping his cock tightly and stroking.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

Dean considered trying to kiss and squeeze him into submission again, but he had a feeling that was all it would be— _trying._ Actually telling Cas he could suck his dick before he’d done his own thing to Cas had clearly been a mistake, and now…Dean guessed he was gonna have to pay for it by breaking the rules of engagement a little—or rather, he was going to have to let _Cas_ break the rules of engagement because he was an asshat.

 _Fine._ Cas could be an asshat. Whatever—just—maybe this would wind up being a good thing and he’d get it out of his system.

So Dean let himself be guided by Cas’s insistent pushing against his shoulders, and soon he was right back on his back, his head and shoulders propped up against the pillows, and for a _third_ time, Cas made his way down—though he went a lot faster this time. Actually, he all but _flew_ down there. Dean sincerely doubted that there was a person on this planet that could rival Cas’s eagerness to suck cock. And it was fucking weird.

Dean grumbled internally as he braced himself and lifted his hips, letting Cas pull his shorts off the rest of the way. Were Cas not being such a bitch, he might’ve laughed at the way he flung them off the bed, not caring a bit where they landed. Despite his irritation, Cas’s groping and rubbing and licking had kept his boner from wilting, so he was still ready to go—Dean could tell that positively _thrilled_ Cas, because hey, no waiting!

And no waiting there was. Even though Dean was watching him the whole time, he couldn’t help but gasp when he felt that wet tongue that he hadn’t felt in months lick all the way from the base of his cock to the head, and then he let out a shaky exhale when immediately after that his prick went right in Cas’s mouth, and it was hot and wet and _sucking_.

Okay, so maybe he’d missed this a little too. But not as much as Cas, dammit.

Just like every other time, there was no build-up, no tease—no, Cas was already sucking hard and fast, his head moving up and down, and just like all the other times, it felt better than it had any right to. Dean kept himself up on his elbows, occasionally letting his head fall back and his eyes close when Cas sucked particularly hard. God, it felt good—despite not having gone down on him in weeks, Cas was sucking him off like he’d been going at it just yesterday. Cas _hmmed_ happily around his cock and Dean echoed the sentiment, his hips rocking a little as Cas shifted against where he was straddling his knee.

Dean sighed when Cas pulled back to come up for air. He knew what was coming next because he knew how Cas liked to do things, but as always, he couldn’t help but shudder, his stomach muscles contracting, as Cas licked hard just at the head of his cock, getting his tongue all up in it, _pushing_ , and Dean moaned when he sucked again, panting a little around his prick. He felt Cas wriggling around, shifting downward, and he lifted his head again in time to see him pushing a little at Dean’s thigh, and Dean let him because he knew what that meant too and it was gonna be awesome. He didn’t look away, watching Cas as he started sucking Dean’s balls, his tongue all over them, and sweet _Jesus_ , it was so fucking awesome, and it was even more awesome to watch him do it, his hand gripping Dean’s cock and jerking it as he sucked.

God, why did Cas always go at this so frantically? He never built up to it, never tried to make it last, just dived right in like he was trying to make Dean go off in under a minute—and if he wasn’t careful, that’s exactly what was going to happen. After going without it for a while, Dean could already feel the heat building in his gut and starting to move down into his pelvis. That wasn’t _fair_ —he had every intention of drawing Cas out, but no, Cas was down there trying to make him go off like a virgin. Dean had a good mind to protest, but Cas seemed to sense it and so made him lose his mind by sucking him off again, his tongue slicking over the underside of his prick on every stroke, and Dean watched and _felt_ him going just a little deeper every time and there were the up-turned eyes, that damn-near _worshiping_ expression Cas always got when he had Dean’s cock in his mouth, only this time there was this ridiculous _gratitude_ too. Dean shivered when he pulled away again, his hands still working as he took a few breaths. As always, Dean could just stare, and he nearly whimpered when he saw Cas briefly lick his lips—why was that so goddamned hot when he did that from that angle?

One of Cas’s hands reached up between Dean’s thighs to gently grip his sack, and then it was back to sucking. Only it wasn’t—Cas was just lightly sucking, slowly sliding Dean’s prick in his mouth—oh, crap, there he went, trying to go deep again. And he was still going—still—oh fuck, he was—

Now Dean really _did_ whimper because _fucking Christ_ , he just watched Cas deep-throat him. _All the way._

And then he fucking _looked_ at him.

Fists knotted in the sheets, his body trembling, Dean just held as still as he could—he would _not_ thrust up into that. He wasn’t going to do that to Cas, not on his—his first time for that. Good thing, too, but _fuck_ , it was hard, because Cas had just choked a little as he pulled off him and the way that _felt_ —sweet God, how he’d wanted to, because that had been so fucking _good_.

Cas seemed to know it. Dean didn’t miss the way Cas was staring, panting and swallowing as he continued to jerk him, and Dean just _knew_ he was steeling himself for another go—

Dean moaned, some dim part of his brain trying to remind him that it was probably way too loud for where they were, but he couldn’t help it—he had his cock down Cas’s throat. _Cas_ had shoved his cock back down his throat, and _it was fucking amazing_.

“ _Shit_ , Cas,” he groaned. Cas shuddered again, but he also _moaned_ a little, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from jerking helplessly against the sensation. Cas pulled off then, coughing a little, and Dean looked down again, vaguely concerned that he’d just choked him, but Cas was just looking back at him, eyes bright, his wet lips still parted as he panted, just sitting there working Dean’s cock with his hands. _Goddamn_ , Cas was driving him _crazy_.

But he couldn’t say anything else because Cas had started sucking him off again, _really_ getting into it now. He kept shifting, maneuvering so he could angle his mouth better, and Dean kept his eyes squeezed shut because if he watched him while he was sucking him off, he’d just come faster and he _desperately_ wanted to make this last longer than Cas ever wanted to let him. He couldn’t help but rock his hips in time with Cas’s motions, fumbling down with one hand to twine his fingers in his hair, shivering every time Cas made a noise around his prick, and he _kept_ making noises around his prick— _fuck_ , he knew that felt good, and Dean wished he would stop it because that was not helping the “draw it out” part of the evening.

Digging the fingers of his free hand into his thigh, he moaned quietly as Cas went deeper again—not a full deep-throat, but it was enough to make little lances of fire shoot down his legs. He felt one of Cas’s hands creeping up his chest, and he shuddered violently as Cas sucked hard at the head of his cock while his fingers played with his nipple. _Fuck_ , this was way too much, and that heat was seeping into his balls now, and it wouldn’t be long before they started tightening up. Cas’s palm suddenly pressed against his ribs, and Dean knew he could probably feel his heart pounding out of control there. Cas _mmmed_ around his prick, and Dean moaned along with him, thrusting up into that wet, sucking heat.

He couldn’t do it anymore—Dean was gonna go and there was no stopping it because when Cas wanted to make him come _he was gonna fucking come_ whether he liked it or not. He let go of his own thigh, instead reaching up and groping for Cas’s hand, which had been sliding down, but Dean found it easily and squeezed, holding his hand right there, because it would make Cas happy but really because he _needed_ something to hold onto. His other hand was in still tight in Cas’s hair, feeling the motions of his head, and he could feel him shuddering, what the fuck was his problem—oh _Jesus_ , who cared, because he was going faster and sucking harder—

Everything was getting tight. He held onto that feeling, arching upwards a little, squeezing Cas’s hand harder. He was so fucking close, and he knew what would send him, but he waited—just a few more seconds of it—and then he finally couldn’t take anymore and _God yes_ , Dean looked down and there was Cas, with Dean’s dick in his mouth and looking up at him, flushed and sucking and _shit_ Dean threw his head back and thrust his hips upward because he was coming, everything just _exploded_ , and _fucking hell_ Cas was _moaning_ around his cock and Dean could do nothing but jerk and thrash on the bed because it was _too much_ and he just kept _going_ and he dimly heard himself saying Cas’s name and Cas was still sucking _motherfuck was it ever going to stop—?!_

Of course, it did. Way, way too soon, in Dean’s opinion, as he lay there, the muscles in his legs and stomach still twitching. He shivered violently when Cas slowly pulled away, his sensitive prick sliding out of his tight mouth one last time, and he knew that if he would just raise his head and glance down, he’d probably see Cas licking his lips and swallowing every bit of Dean’s spunk. But he didn’t have the energy. So he just laid there, eyes closed, panting and feeling Cas’s hot and quick little breaths on his thigh where he was resting his own head.

Okay. So he _did_ miss blowjobs more than he originally thought.

But see, this was why he didn’t like going first. Because he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do _anything_ but just get under the covers and go to sleep. Or make Cas get him under the covers so he could sleep, because him getting under there himself involved moving, after all. He sure as hell didn’t want to get a handful of angel-dick. But no—he was so not doing that. He was not just gonna stick his cock in Cas’s mouth and then go to bed. Life did not work that way, dammit.

So, gathering his reserves and sitting up a little, he reached down and got his hands around Cas’s upper arms, pulling him upwards. Jesus, why the fuck was Cas so _heavy_? He wasn’t _that_ tired—and then he realized it was because Cas wasn’t helping him out. Irritably, he pulled harder, and Cas finally got the message and pushed himself up a little so Dean could pull him up against his chest, and he turned his head upwards as he came up, giving Dean a good look at his “oh joyous day” expression, all flushed and dazed. Good _God_ , Cas was weird.

Once they were on their sides, Dean was about ready to reach down and start doing his thing—Cas had seemed happy enough to lay there on his leg for a while, giving Dean time to wake up a little and feel a little more energetic. But the second Dean did get them facing each other, Cas just curled up next to him, wrapping his arms around his middle, nuzzling up against him and tucking his face up under Dean’s chin. Dean resisted the urge to growl— _no_ , Dean getting off did not mean the night was through. This—things needed to be _equal_. Pulling back so he could tilt Cas’s head up, he leaned down to kiss him, tasting Cas underneath that salty, musky taste that still lingered. Cas wasn’t frantic, though, his mouth soft and yielding again, and Dean, starting to get annoyed, pushed his leg forward to slide between Cas’s, and then bumping his knee up until he reached the jackpot, feeling—

—feeling that Cas had gone soft.

Before he could even register his confusion (and outrage) that Cas’s boner had drooped, he felt Cas shiver against him, almost shying away from his knee, and then he…suddenly became very painfully aware…

He pulled back, staring in dawning realization at Cas, who just gazed tiredly but happily back. Flushed—trembly—sweaty— _sated_ —

—and where his knee was pressed up against Cas’s shorts felt _damp_ —

_Oh, Jesus fucking Christ in a jacked-up cherry picker._

“Did—did you—” Dean started, but he couldn’t finish it. Not that he needed to—because he knew. He _did_.

Cas had jizzed his pants. He’d just blown his load all over himself. All from—just because—

_You fucked-up feathery son of a bitch._

Realization was giving way to stark horror. He barely noticed that Cas’s sleepy contentedness was turning confusion as he stared up at Dean, because why the fuck would _he_ see anything wrong with this? After all, it was his happy little fetish! In his twisted little head, of _course_ nothing was wrong!

“Dean?” Cas’s voice was soft and now vaguely concerned. And Dean did _not_ want to hear anything he had to say.

Firmly and deliberately pushing Cas away from himself, he got his leg _away_ from Cas and sat up, suddenly and painfully aware that he was completely naked. Glancing around, he spotted where his clothes had gotten tossed. Stiffly, he rose from the bed, jerkily picking up his discarded shorts and slipping into them before he went for his clothes.

“Clean yourself off,” he ground out through his teeth once he had his jeans zipped up, and then turned to go out the door.

“Dean—I’m—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Dean snapped, cutting off Cas’s now pitiful words. “Just fucking clean up.” He refused to turn around—he knew what he’d see, and he didn’t need it. Not with—not with knowing what had just happened, because Cas was a _freak_ who _literally got off on blowing him_.

It was only with an extreme act of willpower that Dean didn’t slam the door hard enough to make the rafters rattle—because that would also be hard enough for Sam and Bobby to hear it downstairs, and that was unacceptable. But since he’d taken off his shoes in the back room already and wouldn’t make any noise walking, that meant there was nothing stopping him from storming angrily down the hallway, which he did.

What in the ever-loving _fuck_? What the _fuck_ was wrong with him? What did he—why in God’s name— _what the fuck?!_

Growling incoherently under his breath, Dean stomped into the back room, shut the door, and dropped heavily onto the couch, his spine rigid with outrage—and then just slumped, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. His usual post-sex exhaustion had hit him, but any sleepy satisfaction he might have anticipated was long gone. No surprise, though—how the hell was he supposed to be happy after Cas had just—had _come in his pants_ just from sucking Dean off? God, even thinking about it—looking back, now, knowing that the whole time Dean had been enjoying that blowjob, Cas had been getting his _own_ rocks off… _Jesus Christ._

That was not cool. That was _so_ not cool. That was just—that wasn’t fucking _allowed_ , is what it was.

Damn straight it wasn’t allowed—it wasn’t allowed _ever again_. Cas’s blowjob privileges were officially fucking _revoked_ , and he could just suck on _that_! Dean straightened up and angrily threw himself backwards onto the couch, swinging his stiff legs up and leaning back with his arms tightly crossed over his chest and his eyes clamped shut in furious resolve.

Which lasted about five seconds before his mouth twisted in wry disgust and he started wiggling around to get more comfortable. Who was he kidding, anyway? He’d said that before and he’d barely lasted three months. Oh, he was definitely making the little pervert back off until he could promise not to do _that_ again, and no way in hell Dean was letting him go first anymore, but shit, after five years of nothing, even Dean wasn’t so deluded to think that he was going to go back to nothing but crappy handjobs. Not with the temptation of getting his cock sucked right there. Because he really, really loved getting his cock sucked.

 _Not to mention how much_ Cas _loves to suck it._

Son of a _bitch_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Dean--he did practice. Go read the aside fic "[ Practice Makes Perfect](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956334/chapters/1978731) to see what "went down."
> 
> And, of course, because Bobby is awesome, he was there to talk Cas down the next morning in "[Curb Your Enthusiasm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956334/chapters/1978742)."


	2. Early in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After avoiding Cas for three months on the heels of his little accident, Dean sneaks up into Cas’s room. To _sleep_ , obviously.

_December 2018_

Sam was a bitch.

No, seriously. Their job with that witch had turned messy and they’d needed to get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry before the cops came after them. As such, they’d been on the road for fourteen hours straight—and Dean had been driving the whole damn time. It was friggin’ three in the morning, and here Dean was, wired on coffee, practically propping his eyelids open he was so exhausted, entering his fifteenth hour on the road, driving through winter sleet and snow in the middle of the night, and what was Sam doing? Why, he was all curled up like a baby, leaning against the door and happily asleep.

_Total_ bitch.

With him out like a light, Dean couldn’t even crank the radio to help keep himself awake. Well, he _could_ , but then Sam would just be an even bigger bitch, and after such a long trip he didn’t want to deal with it. Thank God they were almost back to Bobby’s—he didn’t think he could make it much further without falling asleep at the wheel and plowing into a telephone pole.

That, and now that they’d finally rolled into the lot, Sam would finally get his.

Smirking, Dean dug around in his tapes until his found his Van Halen. “Time to wakey-wakey, McFly,” he murmured.

He turned up the volume to the max, popped in the tape—and then hit the power.

And he roared with laughter when Sam shot up so fast in his seat at the first guitar riff that he whacked his head on the roof.

“What the hell, Dean?!” Sam, snarled, fumbling with the radio until he finally managed to turn it off, his eyes bloodshot and held open wide like he always did when he first woke up.

“We’re here,” Dean said, his voice all pleasantness.

“Fuck you,” Sam said sourly, and then opened the door and clambering out.

Still chuckling at his own brilliance, Dean followed, the crunch of his feet on the gravel muffled by the layer of wet snow on the ground, and swung around to the back to open the trunk so they could get their bags and head in. There was a light on in the downstairs back window, so Dean had no problems just beating on the door until Bobby answered. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Dean demanded.

Bobby skewered him with a look. “I used to,” he growled, “but I got outta the habit when I started havin’ these two whiny little babies callin’ me at all hours to bail their sorry asses outta whatever shit they’d gotten themselves into.” He turned around then went right back inside without any further commentary.

Dean pulled a face at his retreating back—Bobby was a bitch too—but it was quickly swallowed by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Man—I am beat. _I_ didn’t get a nap on the way home,” he added pointedly for Sam’s benefit, but to his irritation, he was ignored.

Well, fine then—screw the both of those bitches. He was tired, he needed sleep, and they were a crap audience. He was leaving. He dropped his hunting bag with a thump on the kitchen table before he hefted his duffle higher up on his shoulder and stumped off towards the stairs. Dean usually took them two at once, but he was too damn tired tonight and just shuffled up one at a time. He spared one, unenthusiastic thought for the cold back room and his saggy old couch, but he was exhausted, man—he didn’t want to spend all night folded up and flopping around on that damn thing. He wanted to sleep in a _bed_.

But Cas was in the bed. He hadn’t seen Cas since—since _that_ happened. And Dean knew that ever since then, Cas had been being a complete puss and moping around the house over it, because Bobby had been dropping not-so-subtle hints that Cas had his panties in a knot. The jerk. Who asked him, anyway? It wasn’t any of his business.

Screw it. He was gonna go in there and pretend _that_ had never happened and just get in the bed and get some sleep.

He eased open the door into Cas’s dark room and slipped inside, hearing the tell-tale buzz of Cas’s snoring coming from the bed. Of course Granny Cas was asleep, but Dean was good—he’d snuck in here and gotten in bed without waking him up before.

The only problem with that plan was that all the other times he’d snuck in here, he hadn’t just come off a fifteen-hour drive and wasn’t dead on his feet. He shouldn’t have been trying to be all smooth and get undressed in the dark; in trying to pull off his shoes while standing, he lost his balance and had to drop his boot with a loud thump in order to catch himself to avoid cracking his head open on the corner of the dresser.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Dean?”

_Dammit._ “Yeah, Cas, it’s me,” he answered the dark, skinny shape sitting up in the bed. “I tripped. Go back to sleep.” Grousing to himself, he undid his jeans and pushed them off where he was, shoving his socks off along with them and kicking the whole mess away from him. After a moment’s pause, he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it in the vague direction of the rest of his clothes.

While he’d been stripping down, Cas hadn’t moved, but by the time he was peeling off his shirt, he’d heard the quiet rustlings that had to have been Cas finally settling back down in bed. Dean’s eyes had pretty much adjusted by that point, so he only kinda had to feel around to keep from bashing his shins on the bedframe and found his side easily enough. Leaning down and getting in, he sighed with pleasure as he sank into the mattress, already all warm from where Cas had been sleeping. This was _exactly_ what he’d needed.

He wormed around, burrowing under Cas’s pile of afghans, rolling on his side and tucking his elbow under the pillow. He paused, spotting Cas, on his side as well with his back to him. Dean scooted forward so he could get his arm around his skinny waist.

His skinny _bare_ waist, he noted. Dean scowled as he reached experimentally down to his hip—yep, bare as the rest of him, goddammit—what the hell was his problem? _Normal_ people did not go around with their junk waving in the wind—and especially in the winter. He’d have thought that the snow outside would have been enough to get him to keep his shorts on. But no, here he was, bareass naked even when it was below freezing out. They should’ve just turned the winged little ass-magnet loose in a nudist colony; then he could romp naked through fields of clover and daisies to his heart’s content.

Snorting to himself, Dean tugged him backwards a little; Cas clearly hadn’t fallen back to sleep yet because he obligingly wiggled toward him until Dean could press his chest against Cas’s warm shoulders. Dean sighed, and Cas sighed too, so Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head down, half on the pillows but with his cheek pressed against the back of Cas’s neck.

Cas must have showered tonight, Dean noticed drowsily. He smelled good—all clean and like soap like he always did after a shower. He tilted his head until his nose touched skin, and just because he was there, pursed his lips a little and closed that last little distance as well to press them behind Cas’s ear. Cas sighed again, and Dean rubbed his cheek against the fuzz on the back of his neck that was tickling a little, inhaling that fresh, soapy smell. He liked Cas right out of the shower; he was all warm and clean. Although a few months ago he’d been enjoying his just-showered smell when he’d had a horrible realization: that freshly-showered Cas smelled of soap—and nothing else, which meant that the lavender body wash in there could only belong to _Bobby_.

Yeah—he needed to _not_ think about that right before bed, or else he’d give himself nightmares. He shifted around a little, wiggling his arm halfway out from under his head and leaning forward so he could kiss the spot behind Cas’s ear again. While he was there he nosed sleepily around a bit in Cas’s clean hair just ‘cause he smelled so nice.

He tasted nice too, he noticed, as his mouth hadn’t been quite closed for that last kiss. Like clean skin, of course, but with just a hint of salt. Because he was bundled up in here like Nanook of the North, he was probably sweating a little. And his solution hadn’t been to take off a few blankets, but to strip instead. Dork. Dean licked a little at the place he’d kissed and then kissed it again, pulling Cas back even closer so he could rub his cheek against the back of his neck once more.

Dean had stopped moving, but it didn’t take him long to realize that he’d come to rest with the edge of Cas’s ear just touching the tip of Dean’s nose. This was, for some reason, vaguely amusing—enough to keep him awake, anyway—and Dean felt himself smiling a little. He started lazily running his nose along the curving edge of his ear and then kissed it once near the top—and again a little lower as he moved around to get comfortable _without_ sticking his nose in Cas’s ear, thank you. He scooched forward, resting more of his face against Cas—his nose was no good, but he didn’t mind having his mouth by his ear.

Cas really did have tiny girly ears, now that he thought about it. He smirked a little as he kissed the skin that was right beneath his lips. Little, and kinda squishy for an ear, he noticed muzzily, the way it was flattened under his cheek. The lobe had come to rest right against his lips, and if it was gonna be there, well, the only sensible thing was to open them a tad so it fit between them. He tugged it a bit with his lips and would’ve been perfectly happy to keep it up, only Cas went and moved and it got away. Scowling slightly, Dean leaned forward to recapture it, sucking a little until he got his earlobe into his mouth so he could idly play his tongue along it.

Cas made a small sound, rudely interrupting his relaxation methods; Dean paused, but Cas didn’t move. Dean huffed and let his ear go—Cas was keeping him awake. He scooted in a little closer, wrapping his arm further around Cas and bringing him backwards until Dean’s stomach was pressed up against his smooth back. He tilted his head down, resting further along down Cas’s neck; he sighed when he felt the soft throb of his pulse under his cheek. But then he felt Cas tense, and there was a sudden rise of goosebumps under his cheek, he realized to his annoyance. Great—he couldn’t stay here. Didn’t matter that he was finally comfortable, no—he was breathing on Cas’s neck, and Cas was a puss and would get cold from it. Well, that’s what he got for not keeping his goddamn clothes on.

Dammit, Dean was never gonna get to sleep with Cas being so finicky. He felt himself starting to huff, but grudgingly turned his head a little to the side so he didn’t breathe down Cas’s neck this time. Instead, he just did it on the side of his neck. Because he was way more generous than Cas deserved, he pressed his mouth on the spot that he’d just breathed on to warm him up.

He rubbed his forehead and his still-closed eyes there as well, his hand spreading out to press against Cas’s soft stomach. He felt himself smirking again—Cas had a bit of a belly coming in. That’s what he got for eating so much tikka masala every time they got Indian take-out—he couldn’t eat four hundred burgers anymore and still keep his girlish figure. Dean moved his hand back and forth over Cas’s squidgy middle, nuzzling at his neck, trying to get his goosebumps to go down.

Cas was being a bitch, though, and refused to warm up. No, he was staying all stiff and goosebumpy because he somehow knew Dean just wanted to settle down and go to bed. Dean was getting irritated; he was tired, goddammit—Cas needed to warm back up and relax so he could go to sleep. He hooked his arm clear around Cas’s middle and tugged him back again, pushing his own legs forward. Now they were both pressed up against each other, stem to stern, and Dean leaned down and kissed where Cas’s neck met his shoulder.

Dean ran his hand all up and down Cas’s middle from his squishy little belly-button up to the middle of his slightly-fuzzy chest. Cas was mostly smooth—thank God—but there was always that little dusting of fuzzy hairs right in the middle of his chest, and Dean rubbed the tips of his fingers over them. He switched directions, moving his hand from side to side now across Cas’s chest—he was so flat up here. Dean was still torn between being irritated and pleased that that was the case. Yeah, it was good that Cas wasn’t all ripped and crap because Dean _so_ didn’t want to be in bed with some muscle-bound hunk—he really didn’t think he could take that. But on the other hand, he was so flat that it still made it so painfully obvious that he was a dude. No tits, no nothin’. Just a skinny, flat, _dude’s_ chest.

Dean had gotten pretty good at ignoring all the dude stuff except when Cas had to go and pull shit like this, being all flat-chested when Dean was spooning with him. This had always been one of his favorite ways to hold women, and honestly, was one of his favorite ways to just hold Cas—except with Cas, it was always just a little bit uncomfortable. There were no nice round boobs to squeeze, no big puffy nipples for him to play with—just the boring flat chest and the useless little nubs like the one under his fingertips. Grumbling a little, Dean circled it with his thumb and then tried to roll it between his fingers like he would with a chick, but it just wasn’t the same.

“…Dean?” Cas’s voice was quiet, a little breathy, and even more gravelly than usual because he’d just woken up. Dean scowled against the place on his neck he’d been kissing and raised his head to make a shushing noise. _Shut up, Cas—I’ll talk to you tomorrow._ Dean was trying to sleep here—this was no time for Cas to be talking, especially not if his talking was going to be about how he was sorry about the last time he’d been here. He didn’t need it, dammit—they were _fine_.

He may have showered, but Dean made the unpleasant discovery that he hadn’t _shaved_ when Cas’s prickly cheek rasped against his own. He grimaced and moved back down to his smooth neck. That was much better—no scratchy dudeness here. He gave Cas’s little nipple one last idle tug before lifting up a bit so he could get his elbow out from under himself and worm his arm under Cas instead so now he could get both hands on his warm chest.

There. That was much better. Dean pushed farther forward—and then scowled. Cas may have had a soft little belly, but his ass was plenty solid. Dean guessed all his chores around the house kept that much in shape. Usually Dean liked it, except now one hard cheek was smashing his dick, and he did not approve.

Dean dragged the arm he had wrapped around Cas’s side to grab his bare hip and hold him steady while Dean wiggled around until Cas’s ass was very neatly lined up with Dean’s hips. There—now nothing important was getting flattened. Quite the opposite, really—now Dean found that Cas’s solid little ass was terribly convenient when used the right way: His prick was now nicely flanked by two firm angelic cheeks, and as far as Dean was concerned, that was just dandy.

Dean slid his hand around, low on Cas’s stomach beneath his navel, and pulled Cas’s butt all up nice and snug against his hips. Mmm…that was nice. Dean gave his hips an experimental little push forward and was rewarded by the slow slide of Cas’s bare ass through his shorts.

This was more like it. Dean sighed happily, leaning back down against Cas’s smooth shoulder and rocking his hips again, keeping his hand pressed firm and low on his front so Cas’s butt stayed right up against him. He opened his mouth so he could suck lightly on the skin of Cas’s neck, enjoying that just-showered taste again and feeling the rapid patter of Cas’s pulse under his tongue.

Cas made a small noise when Dean scraped his teeth against the side of his throat, and then to his outrage, Dean felt him trying to turn and roll over. What the hell, man? Dean just got comfortable and now Cas wants to move? Fuck that. Dean tightened his arms, pressing one hand wide on his chest and wrapping the other arm around his hips, pushing forward and mashing Cas down against the mattress. Just for good measure, he lightly bit the little twerp’s shoulder and bumped his hips very insistently against his ass, making it clear that Cas was right where Dean wanted him and he was gonna stay there.

Cas froze the minute Dean squeezed him; Dean held him that way a little longer, not moving except for his rocking hips, until he was sure he wasn’t going to try to start flopping around again. Only then did he relax again. _Just be still and let me go to sleep, Cas_ , he grumbled to himself. Dean let go of where he was biting Cas’s shoulder so he could go back to sucking on his ear because that was relaxing. He loosened the tight arm he had across Cas’s hips so he could go back to rubbing low on his stomach again—like he’d been perfectly happy doing before Cas tried to be a douche—and keeping Cas’s ass right where it needed to be.

Cas finally seemed to get it; he was staying where he was, not wiggling around, only—there, now, see? Was that so hard? He was staying still, but curving his back just a little and then tilting his hips to press his ass right there were Dean wanted it. Dean gave a small _hmm_ of approval as he rubbed his hips harder against him. He could hear Cas panting softly, his hand fumbling around until he found the one Dean had curled under him and gripped his fingers, and he was moving his hips in time with Dean’s, helping him rub _just_ right. Dean let go of his ear to drag his tongue across Cas’s the line of Cas’s jaw. He managed to ignore Cas’s mangy stubble for the most part, their cheeks sliding roughly against each other. His hips were grinding slowly and steadily against Cas’s ass, and then his tongue found the corner of Cas’s open mouth. Dean nearly rolled his eyes because even though Dean had him pinned against the pillows, Cas still managed to squirm around, making small, frustrated grunts the whole time, until he had turned his head enough so that he could eagerly lick Dean’s seeking tongue—

_…Oh, son of a…_

Great. Wasn’t that just _typical_. Dean drags himself into bed in the middle of the night after a rough job and a long drive, just wants to go to sleep, and wants to hold Cas because he was warm and there and because Dean hadn’t seen him in a while, and what does Cas do? Why, he decides he wants sex! Jesus Christ, why the hell was he such a freaking _horndog_? They didn’t have to—you know, _do this_ every time he got home from a trip, goddammit!

Dean had stilled his hips during his outraged realization, but vindictively, he started back up, making it a point to be a bit rough on his ass, and he made his displeasure known by biting Cas on the shoulder again, making him gasp. _Horny little prick_ , he grumbled internally, shifting a bit to keep his cock sliding right where he wanted it between Cas’s asscheeks. Dean had a good mind to just go to sleep like he wanted to and leave him hanging.

But no, Dean wasn’t a bitch, unlike pretty much everyone _else_ in this house. Oh, what the hell—it wasn’t like it was _late_ or anything, or that Dean was _tired_ , no. Dean had absolutely _nothing_ better to do than get Cas off. Growling in annoyance, he reached down for Cas’s dick—or rather, reached down for Cas’s raging boner, ‘cause Cas was a pervert.

Cas gave a soft little “ _Oh!_ ” when Dean’s hand closed around his cock; Dean himself just gave a resigned sigh and with a grimace started to jack him. Yeah, because he’d really wanted to get a nice handful of dick when he’d gotten home tonight. Forefront of his mind, that.

Dean was still sleepy, but he wasn’t in any danger of actually _falling_ asleep now ( _thanks a lot, Cas_ ), so he just huffed again, closing his eyes and going back to nibbling on Cas’s neck and rubbing his prick on Cas’s bare butt. He was awake enough to concentrate on what he was doing, so if he was gonna have to give Cas a handjob, at least he could enjoy himself while he did it.

Cas was grunting softly as Dean worked him, and Dean lifted his head a little to look at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and he had that rapturous look he always had when Dean touched him because he was weird. He couldn’t get up to any of his usual tricks of fondling Dean, not pinned down on the mattress like he was with Dean behind him, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. One was still wrapped around Dean’s own, squeezing tightly, but the other was now blundering around to tug on Dean’s hair as he leaned down to suck on his pulse point again.

Dean could feel the little noises Cas was making against his cheek, and in spite of his general irritation at Cas and his stupid libido, he smirked. He gave his hand an expert twist, circling his palm around the head of Cas’s cock like he knew he liked it, and was rewarded with a quiet moan. And when he slid his hand back down to grip him tight and jerk him good and slow, not quick like he knew he really wanted it, Cas bit his lip before softly gasping Dean’s name.

Dean let out a shaky exhale of his own, burying his face back in the crook of Cas’s neck even as he pushed his hips harder against him. He rocked forward so he could get every inch of his own hard-on firmly in the furrow of his ass, and then dragged his tongue from his shoulder all the way up to his ear, never stopping the motions of his hand on Cas’s dick, tugging it faster again so Cas would groan again.

Dean’s own quick breaths began to take on an aggravated edge; rubbing against Cas through his shorts was all well and good, but he wasn’t actually getting anywhere. Not to mention that Cas was concentrating on his own dick now, moving his hips against the strokes of Dean’s hand instead of Dean’s hips—as such, Cas wasn’t helping him out like he had been before. Dean wiggled the fingers of his other hand out of Cas’s tight grip and wormed around, trying to get down low so he could push Cas’s hips where he wanted them again, but he couldn’t get any leverage, not with Cas making it with Dean’s hand like he was.

Dean held him tight, his eyes still tightly closed, biting down on his neck and thrusting his hips against him with frustrated little breaths, but it was no use. Sighing, Dean released Cas’s neck, soothing over the bitten spot with his tongue as he slowed the motions of his hand until he stopped all together and let go of Cas’s dick.

Cas made a small noise of protest, but Dean hushed him again, kissing the edge of his ear and licking it a little before sucking gently at the skin right behind it. He waited a minute, just worrying at the soft skin, to see if Cas was going to start whining or flopping around again, but he didn’t. The only sounds in the room their rapid breathing and the thud of Cas’s heartbeat in Dean’s ear. Once he was sure Cas was going to keep still, Dean let go of where he’d been gripping Cas’s narrow hip and brought his hand around to the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down in front and over his stiff prick with a small sigh of relief.

Gripping his freed cock, Dean gave himself a few easy strokes before he started to direct it downwards, but he got distracted when he dragged it right down the warm cleft of Cas’s butt. He moaned softly before pressing his face against the back of his neck as he moved his hand back up again, pushing forward a little so he could rub the head of his cock between the cheeks of Cas’s ass.

Cas was very still; he only moved to bring his hand up to curl around Dean’s neck again, and as far as Dean was concerned, he could just keep this up all night. But, no, he knew there was an even better place to be, so after slowly sliding the head of his prick deep between Cas’s tight buttcheeks one more time, he scooched down just a bit, pushing against Cas to make him bend his spine a little. Dean moved his hips, nudging forward into the warm, tight space between Cas’s legs, keeping his dick still pressed up against the round underside of his ass.

Dean pulled back before giving a small, experimental thrust forward. He grunted when his cock rubbed against the hot skin up behind Cas’s balls and the smooth flesh of the insides of his thighs. Yeah, this was _precisely_ what he wanted. He let go of himself and got a grip back on Cas’s hip, thrusting again while shifting him to where he wanted him—oh yeah, right there.

Dean slid his hand down on the front of Cas’s thigh, pressing down to make Cas keep it tight like he liked—oh, _shit_ , yes, just like that. His eyes still shut, he started to move against him like he meant it, fucking his thighs with quick shallow thrusts. Pressing open-mouthed kisses all along his neck, already starting to pant, he slid his hand upwards to grip Cas’s balls, making him gasp. Then pushed them down until he could feel the head of his cock nudging the back of Cas’s sack every time he thrust forward.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed in Cas’s ear as he licked it, and then he let go of his balls to bring his hand up to spit in his palm before reaching back down to start jacking Cas’s cock again.

_Jesus_ —Dean didn’t know if it was the hot slide of skin on his dick, the feel of that sweet little ass smacking against his hips as he moved, or Cas’s quiet pants and moans as Dean jerked him—or maybe the combination of all three—but damn, he was comin’ up on the home stretch fast tonight. He pressed his face against Cas’s shoulder as he thrust between his legs, forcing himself to slow down even as his fist pumped faster. Cas mewled helplessly, the rhythm of his hips stuttering against Dean’s redoubled efforts.

_That’s right—come on, now, Cas, you give it to me._ Dean was not about to come first, hell no, it didn’t matter that his eyes were screwed shut with the effort of restraining himself as he panted shakily against Cas’s shoulder or that that ass bumping against him was driving him crazy—Dean Winchester did _not_ come first, and that was that.

Cas’s breath was coming in whistling gasps, and Dean looked up to see his face half-buried in his pillow and his hand braced against the mattress where Dean was bearing down on him. Dean twisted his hand, dragging it over the head of his cock, a wet trail smearing across his palm in its wake, and Cas let out a tiny sob, trying fruitlessly to move his hips faster but unable to under Dean’s pressing weight. Dean flexed his elbow, pushing down on Cas’s thigh, keeping them tight around Dean’s own cock, grunting with each slow thrust between them.

Cas’s hand was fisted in the sheets, twisting and knotting, his faced flushed and his body trembling, and as Dean squeezed his fist even tighter and licked at the sweat beading on the back of his neck, Cas whimpered, “ _Dean…_ ”

In desperation, Dean stopped the movements of his hips all together, freezing where he was, his achingly-hard dick still all up between Cas’s legs, squeezing Cas tight with the arm underneath him and licking his throat, and furiously jerking his cock to make him come.

And he did—and Dean kept stroking him all through it, listening to his hushed cries as he jizzed into Dean’s curled fingers with a warm little spurt (because he still hadn’t gotten the hang of catching his own mess, so Dean had to do it for him to keep him from getting that shit all over the bed for everyone to see). He didn’t stop tugging it until Cas’s rigid back went limp, his arm flopping uselessly down on the mattress, and he just laid there, panting. Dean slid his hand down to draw the heel of his palm in circles around the head of Cas’s dick, coaxing out a few last drops of come and wringing a helpless little moan from Cas.

Thank God he was done—because Dean was dying here, listening to him like that and with that tight heat still clamped around his dick. He raised up to reposition himself, forcing his arm further under Cas’s limp body so he could yank him tightly back against his chest before he bent his waist, forcing Cas to bend with him and shove his ass right up against Dean’s hips. Dean contracted his arms, seizing Cas around the middle with one arm and across his hips with the other, and then rocked his hips back before slamming them forward. Cas let out a grunt as he was yanked backwards, Dean squeezing him tight as he thrust between his thighs.

He wasn’t gonna last long—he was too damn tired and too fucking horny to bother with stamina, especially after watching Cas go off like that. He just kept thrusting forward, his arms locked around Cas’s skinny body, just dragging him along for the ride while he humped him.

_Close…close…_ Just a bit more, that was all he needed, _God_ , and he bent Cas over further, biting down on the back of his neck. He fumbled down between Cas’s legs until he found his balls, the come on his hand smearing on his skin as he squeezed, making Cas groan, and then Dean pushed them back up between his legs so he could feel them where his dick was poking out from between his legs. Now he was surrounded, all heated skin everywhere, and the rough skin of Cas’s sack rasped over the head of his cock every time Dean thrust against it, _yes_ , and there was Cas’s hand, pushing back with Dean’s own sticky fingers and then he squeezed his thighs—so _tight_ — _yes_ —

With a hard muscle spasm and a thick grunt, Dean came, all between Cas’s legs and all over his balls, but he kept thrusting, hissing with agonized pleasure as his spunk make Cas’s thighs slippery as well as tight around his cock, and he kept thrusting until he just couldn’t _take_ it anymore, couldn’t _stand_ it, too _much_ — _Cas_ —

Dean stayed there, frozen, squeezing Cas so tightly to him neither one of them could move, could barely breathe, and then he just sort of sagged, sinking down into the mattress, his arms loosening so Cas could sag against him too. He kept his eyes closed, just panting against the back of Cas’s neck, as his exhaustion, sex-induced and otherwise, hit him like a hammer.

He didn’t move, just laid there like a lump, listening to Cas’s breathing. He shifted his hand that was down between Cas’s thighs and felt a trickle of fresh come on his fingers from where Dean had blown his load all over him. He dozily twisted his hand down to cup his sack, his own still-wet come under his fingers and Cas’s sticky come on his palm, and he squeezed his balls a little, and smirked at the quiet noise Cas made in his throat.

It really was a marker of how tired he was that Dean blinked and suddenly realized that he had been sitting there dozing for God knew how long with his hand covered in drying spunk while he was fucking _massaging Cas’s balls_.

He yanked his hand away with a muttered, “ _Fuck_ ,” his mouth twisting in disgust. God _dammit_. He flopped around, yanking his arm out from under Cas so he could raise up on his elbow to reach for the tissues, grabbing a handful and furiously working his hand to get that shit _off_ him, for Chrissakes.

Cas of course was taking his sweet time, just leisurely reaching for the tissues like he hadn’t a care in the world, much less congealing spooge between his legs. Dean hissed and jerked back a little when Cas started wiping it up and accidentally brushed Dean’s limp dick where it was still tucked up between his thighs.

Scowling, Dean rolled away so he could finish scrubbing his hand and his junk—he didn’t want a fucking trace of that mess on him. He was so thorough that by the time he’d pulled his shorts back up and raised up to chuck that disgusting wad of tissues, Cas had finished up too and was settling back down under the covers.

Dean growled in irritation, covering himself back up against the cold air of the room before slinging an arm back around Cas’s middle and roughly pulling him up against him like he was before, back when Dean was trying to get some shut-eye but Cas was being a horny bitch.

“Now go to _sleep_ , Cas,” he said, and it was supposed to sound stern, but Dean didn’t quite manage the severe tone he’d intended and it mostly just came out sounding all… _gooey._ Because he was _tired_ , goddammit.

Cas gave a small, contented sigh. “Yes, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazingly enough, these two do actually manage to talk things out in our GTBT fic "[Pillow Talk.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/956334/chapters/1985102)"


End file.
